On Wednesday, after they were done with martial arts class, Ida invited Chi over to her apartment with the promise of showing her something. Chi found a seat in the living room and Ida rushed into her bedroom and came back with an open sketchbook, which she proudly handed over. Chi scanned the page then lifted her head to look at Ida, who was eagerly watching her.
“I didn’t know you could draw so well. What is this?” asked Chi.
“I named it the ‘Virgin Queen Collection.’ Do you know anything about Elizabeth I?”
“Vaguely. She was the Queen of England like way back?”
“Yes, the end of the 16th century. I’ve been studying her and how her fashion grew with her power. There’s a picture of her at the back.”
Chi turned to the back of the sketchbook, which had a copy of the Armada Portrait, painted at the height of Elizabeth I’s power after the English defeat of the Spanish Armada. Chi’s eyes widened.
“Woah,” she said. “Looks like she’s wearing her whole wardrobe.”
“Not even close,” said Ida. “A house couldn’t fit her wardrobe. The most interesting thing about her is that she was never married or had children. They called her the ‘Virgin Queen.’”
“That makes sense,” said Chi, still staring at the portrait. “This lady doesn’t mess around.”
“She liked to go over the top, and she set the trends for the whole country, even for the men. Fashion was a symbol of her power.”
“Ah, I see now,” said Chi, flipping through Ida’s designs. “You’ve taken the patterns and shapes and simplified them.”
“Yes, every piece takes features from her fashion. I made the sleeves go out a bit around the hands, or the middle of the arm, or used lace where it made sense. I was careful to keep the patterns simple and elegant.”
“I’m guessing she never flaunted her boobs?” said Chi, looking up at Ida with a wry smile.
“How could you even say that!” replied Ida sarcastically. “She was a queen.”
“Of course. Sorry. What was I thinking?”
Chi flipped back and forth through the designs.
“Pretty impressive,” she said. “And what’s this?” she added, flipping further through the sketchbook.
“You know Rosie The Riveter, right?”
“Of course. The ‘We Can Do It’ lady from World War II.”
“Yes. I channelled her as well. That one is a cream coloured work overall, styled for everyday wear.”
Chi looked back at the page.
“Oh, God, yes,” she said. “I love it.”
“Turn the page,” said Ida with her insides fluttering.
Chi turned the sheet and her eyes lit up like a child.
“No!” she said.
“Yes!” replied Ida with a giggle, unable to contain her excitement. “A white pullover styled after our martial arts uniform. You can wear it with jeans, a skirt, anything.”
Chi was laughing openly now.
“Wow! I’m impressed. This is amazing.”
Ida’s cheeks began blushing.
“Thanks,” she said.
“So I see you made some decisions then?”
Ida nodded with a childish grin.
“Unfettered. Unfetishised. I get it now. This is great, Ida.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. What you said the other night was really helpful.”
“Oh, I’m glad,” said Chi and placed a hand on Ida’s shoulder.
“Orange juice?” asked Ida.
“Sure.”
Ida got up and went to the kitchen and fetched two glasses from the overhead cupboard.
“So what’s the next move?” asked Chi through the living room door.
“These are just ideas. Designs. I want to know who will actually wear them,” replied Ida, returning with two glasses of orange juice and handing one to Chi. “So I’ll make samples. Then measure the results.”
Chi raised her palm while Ida leaned forward and gave her a high five.
“Do you have time for a fitting by any chance?” asked Ida.
“I finish work early on Friday. If you want we can visit my friend’s cafe so they can meet you. After that we can come to yours and do the fitting?”
“Yes, perfect,” said Ida.
“Oh, and I’m meeting with a couple of the girls after that at Gorbachev’s if you want to come?”
“Sure. Beers are on me. To say thank you.”
“Well, isn’t that kind of you. I never say no to free beer.”
“Excellent,” said Ida. “Then prepare to be hungover.”
20
The snow was the ultimate purifier, the place where Frederich’s consciousness peaked. Focusing was easy in the sub-zero temperatures. All life-giving energy was swept away, leaving only white vertigo, the harsh burn of ice and the instinct to survive.
Frederich had learnt early to embrace the cold. He adapted his body to extreme conditions with constant, controlled exposure, often shedding the gloves and head cover and allowing his breath to warm him from the core, a Tibetan technique he had mastered over the years. As his platoon worked its way uphill, he drew the crisp air into his belly and forced his legs forward while visualising his inner fire. His body was finally returning to full strength, and it was a relief to be outside in the fresh air, even when it was under the tutelage of Scheffler.
The unit was marching in single file under light snowfall. Two of Scheffler’s armed guard flanked the sides with AK-47 rifles, which Frederich noted were perfect for the extreme conditions. Scheffler led the unit, and Otto covered the back. Frederich was behind Piotr and inspected his friend’s form for signs of exhaustion. Piotr was on his last strike, and if he slipped up again, Scheffler would send him packing. Frederich was not going to let that happen. It was Piotr who had nursed him back to reasonable strength, and who had risked punishment to sneak in rations of food for Frederich after his time in the hole. Without the extra nutrients, Frederich may not have been able to withstand the training load in the days following his release. After Frederich had stood up for his friend, Piotr had repaid the favour. Now an unspoken alliance had formed between them. Frederich had a hunch that they would need each other, especially since they were the two most within Scheffler’s sadistic scope.
Frederich thought about his training with Kraas, which was fundamentally different
